


Here’s An Excuse to Steal A Kiss

by isuilde



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: 11/11, Established Relationship, M/M, Street Act, Unrepentant Fluff, i mean can you blame her tho, pocky game???? but not really, random mob young lady trying her luck with omi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 15:43:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21430666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isuilde/pseuds/isuilde
Summary: November 11 is Pocky Day. So Omi and Tsuzuru hand out flyers, along with individually-wrapped, cutely-beribboned pocky, and do Street Act.Getting kisses is a bonus.(Or: jealousy is an ugly emotion.Is it really though?)
Relationships: Fushimi Omi/Minagi Tsuzuru
Comments: 7
Kudos: 118





	Here’s An Excuse to Steal A Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to make OmiTsuzu do Pocky Game, I really did. Except it just wouldn’t come out right. So instead I turned it into stolen kisses with food. Couldn’t make it in time for 11/11 but hey! I finished!
> 
> I’m also rusty, I’m sorry. I hope you’d enjoy this nonetheless. If you like OmiTsuzu, do say hi and yell about them with me on Twitter by poking @isuilde!

November 11, according to Citron who had been properly educated by Kazunari and Muku regarding these specially assigned days that both Sakyo and Chikage agree probably only exist for marketing reasons, is Pocky Day. And that is the reason why Omi stands on the sidewalk right now, a bag of individually, cutely wrapped and beribboned pocky in one arm and flyers for Mankai Company’s upcoming play held in the other. 

As a business student, Omi gets the logic. It’s Pocky Day, so why not appeal to more female audience by handing out a cutely wrapped pocky along with the flyer for their new play? Make it more personal to their fans, and still less costly than handing out flowers, for example. Maybe throw some fanservice here and there, or if their fans ask for it. Judging from how the flyers in his arm has been decreasing in a faster pace than usual, the strategy definitely works. He glances to where Tsuzuru is handing out his own stack of flyers and pocky a few steps away to his left. 

They might have time to drop by the yakiimo vendor and take the long way home, through the park. A not-quite-date, maybe, but it’s pretty cold today and if the park is empty enough they could maybe hold hands. If he’s lucky, Tsuzuru might let him steal a kiss, probably—

“This represents our fate, the Good Witch said.”

Omi blinks at the one pocky that just got stolen from his hand, before his gaze finds the culprit. A young woman, sharp shoulders and confident eyes appraising him, long fingers opening the beribboned plastic wrapped of the pocky in a deliberately delicate play. She ducks her head, gesture and posture turning meek, but when she glances up at Omi, there’s a challenge flashing in her eyes.

“Devour this together, the Good Witch said, and our fate shall be tangled forever. You and I, my love, against the world. Inseparable!”

The lines are beautifully spoken, enunciated clearly, with just enough flair that alerts the people around them to pause in their steps and take a look. Omi tells himself not to sigh—even if he’s not really in the mood to do Street Act today, this is always a chance to learn and sharpen his acting. Besides, if this young woman is from one of the theatre companies in Veludo Town and Omi backs off from what is clearly a Street Act challenge, he’s letting go of a good chance to promote their next play here.

So he thinks of a quick character for the etude: a simple townsman, perhaps, whose sweetheart will be stolen by some nobleman and is now desperately thinking how he can keep his lover. The role settles over him with ease, and Omi reaches out to place a hand on the young woman’s shoulder. “The Witch isn’t to be trusted, you know that. She may name herself the Good Witch, but rumours have it she deceived those naive enough to ask for her help!”

“But this is the only way,” her voice trembles, shoulders hunch, hands clasped over her chest. “Please! If nothing else, it will give me the courage to keep fighting!”

They’re drawing quite an audience by now, a semi-circle of curious and expecting onlookers. Omi lets the pause hangs, before finally settles and says, “I understand—“

The young woman’s face brightens.

“Let us share it together then.”

And he’s about to take the pocky from the girl’s hand, to maybe break it in half and eat one half of it, except the young woman places it in between her teeth with a smile, eyes challenging, and Omi stops for a moment.

Ah, she got him.

Not that he’s not unfamiliar with the infamous Pocky Game (Kazunari would find this absolutely hilarious), but honestly it’s kind of annoying to get trapped into it. It’s going to be hard to back off from this, too—they’re still in the middle of the Street Act, and from the way the audience’s chatter rises excitedly, so does their expectation, which he can’t really ignore as an actor. So he takes a breath, and leans down.

One-two-three bites, their foreheads meet. Four-five, and Omi feels her breath falls on his nose as she holds a chuckle. _Knock it off_, Omi thinks in slight irritation, because there’s barely some inches between their noses now and he has no plan of actually kissing someone that’s not his boyfriend today.

Instead, she takes another tiny bite.

That’s it. Omi ducks his head ever-so-slightly, intending to snap the pocky into two before it gets any shorter and he gets trapped further. Except right before he manages to snap the pocky, something settles against his nape almost threateningly, and Tsuzuru’s voice rings clear, “And you thought you’ve outsmarted me, didn’t you?”

Omi freezes. The young woman, clearly surprised, accidentally snaps the pocky into two, leaving the longer piece still stuck in-between Omi’s teeth. She takes a step back, daintily runs a finger over her lips and makes sure to swallow the piece of pocky she still has. Her meek gestures turn into anger. “You—!”

“I see you had enticed my Good Witch to your side enough that she gives you the Branch of Fate,” Tsuzuru drawls. Omi recognizes this way of speaking from his performance as Merlin. “As expected from my chosen Princess. The more you struggle, the more striking you become.”

“Get away from him,” the young woman hisses. Tsuzuru laughs—a light, charming sound with just the right touch of something unhinged—and steps forward to stand by Omi’s side, one hand still holding a twig against Omi’s neck. 

“Devour this and your fates shall be tangled forever,” Tsuzuru chuckles, like he’s amused by the lines itself. “Did she not tell you what happens if you can’t finish the ritual?”

“What do you mean? We finished it—our fates are tangled and you can’t do anything about it!”

“Oh, I wonder,” Tsuzuru says, and the next thing Omi knows is being tugged forward, Tsuzuru’s breath over his nose, the familiar touch of Tsuzuru’s slightly chapped lips a fleeting sensation over his own as the piece of pocky still trapped between his lips is stolen away along with his breath. Distantly, Omi hears high-pitched shrieks and surprised murmurs from the audience. He swallows the tiny bite of pocky still left in his mouth almost in surprise, and blinks, sees the red tips of Tsuzuru’s ears as his boyfriend takes a step away, and really, there is no word to describe how warm he feels inside right now. 

When he drops to one knee, it doesn’t feel like acting. He hopes people don’t really see how happy he is to do so, considering how hard it is for him to bite the silly grin threatening to break across his face. He lowers his head, a perfect posture of worship, and says reverently, “My lord.”

As Tsuzuru’s hand rests over the top of his head, he hears the young woman’s voice, terrified and dismayed, and Omi has to give it to her: she’s a damn good actress. “No!”

“Mark my words,” Tsuzuru announces, the pure arrogance and greed in one haughty spread of his arm is an irrefutable proof of how much he has improved as an actor. “I shall take away everything that is yours. Your kingdom. Your treasures. Your loved ones. And finally—“

A heavy pause, strategically placed, before Tsuzuru finishes his act with a chilling smile.

“You.”

Silence falls for a whole five seconds, before the applause rings from the audience with an echo that deafens Omi’s ears.

**——-o0o——-**

“I’m really sorry about earlier!”

Omi stares at the top of Tsuzuru’s head, unruly brown hair tousled by late autumn wind. He wants to reach out and ruffle those strands, but his hands are currently full holding two large yakiimo, so he settles for a chuckle instead.

“It’s fine, Tsuzuru. It was great—the audience loved it, that young lady told us it was a pleasure to do Street Act with us. We finished handing out the flyers, too. Everything ends up well.”

The tips of Tsuzuru’s ears and what little patch of skin Omi could see of his nape is still red. So are his cheeks when he finally looks up and finds Omi’s gaze—not as vibrant as the autumn leaves around them, but just as beautiful. “Still. I actually k-ki—ki—“ he stumbles on the syllable, visibly bites on the word, and finally gives up by burying his face into his palms. “In public! I’m so sorry, Fushimi-san—“

“I was glad,” Omi says honestly, lets the warmth in his chest colors his words so that it can reach Tsuzuru, somehow. “Thank you for helping me. I wasn’t going to kiss her, of course, but I wasn’t sure where to go with the Street Act either.”

Tsuzuru peeks at him from the gaps of his fingers. Omi smiles, raises one of the yakiimo in his hand. “My Lord?”

“Please stop,” Tsuzuru complains half-heartedly, but takes the yakiimo that Omi offers anyway. Looks like it’ll take some time before the shade of red on his cheeks disappear for good. Omi chuckles before taking a bite of his own yakiimo, murmuring appreciatively at the sweet warmth spreading in his mouth. By his side, Tsuzuru makes a similar sound once he takes a bite himself.

“It’s good.”

“It is.”

“Thank you for the treat, Fushimi-san.”

Omi laughs around a mouthful of sweet potato goodness. “Thank you for keeping me company.”

Then comes the tug on Omi’s sleeve—light but not quite hesitant—turning him to face Tsuzuru properly. Green eyes find his own, almost as shy and bashful as the first early buds of flowers in spring, but when Tsuzuru speaks, it’s with a steady cadence of someone who is used to taking charge, to decisions, to determination.

“I didn’t jump into the Street Act because it was a challenge to us.”

Omi thinks he knows that. Knew, even when Tsuzuru first pressed that twig against his nape. But the full weight of that knowledge hits him _now_, of all times, and renders him mute.

They’re actors. Acting is their job, part of their lives, something they strive for a perfection in—in spite of personal feelings. And yet Tsuzuru decided to interfere, had jumped into the Street Act and pushed the young woman away, simply because he hadn’t liked seeing it.

Tsuzuru, who always holds himself back from what he wants and put others before him. Who almost never does anything for himself. Who now smiles bashfully, like a kid who had just confessed that he’d stolen a cookie last night because he was hungry, and says, “Jealousy really is ugly, huh?”

_Is it really,_ Omi wonders. If it is, then why does it makes him happy?

“I promise I won’t do it again—gotta stay unbiased and all, since I’m the playwright.” A pause, in which Tsuzuru’s smile softens with a touch of self-deprecation. “It was ridiculous, I know. I just couldn’t—I didn’t want to see Fushimi-san lean any closer to her—“

“Tsuzuru,” Omi says, and he thinks he sounds kinda faint. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

Tsuzuru’s mouth hangs open for two quick seconds. Then he flushes beet red, eyes darting left and right as if checking if there’s anyone around, before taking a deep breath and closes his eyes.

“‘Kay.”

There is a tiny stray piece of yakiimo stuck on the corner of Tsuzuru’s lips. Omi steals that before pressing their lips together, curving his arms around Tsuzuru’s shoulders, almost tasting the shiver in Tsuzuru’s breath when his name is etched against his lips. _Omi-san,_ it says, and Omi swallows it with a sense of satisfaction and a rather alarming feel of possessiveness.

Perhaps as ugly as Tsuzuru’s jealousy, earlier, but theirs anyway, all the same.

**——-o0o——-**

**Author's Note:**

> OmiTsuzu is good. Yousei boys are good. Mankai Company in general is good. Love yourself by loving Izumi.


End file.
